No single species, no single image, better symbolizes the resurgence of the Northeaster woodland than the mountain lion, Puma concolor. It's still a matter of debate, of course, whether or not the cougar has actually even returned to the New England forest, but with more and more evidence and sightings mounting with every year, doubt is diminishing rapidly. Most state Fish and Wildlife departments long denied the claim that cougars were re-colonizing the east, eager to avoid panic and the need for research expenditures, but recently, even here in Connecticut, environmental agencies are conceding that the big cats are indeed once again stalking the woods. Some people suggest that the sightings are of individual escapees from private menageries or collections, but frankly this seems far fetched, and even more difficult to believe than the idea that cougars are simply drifting in through Pennsylvania and the Adirondacks, or down from Quebec. And why shouldn't they? Ecologically, there's nothing stopping them. The forests in the region have re-grown to levels not seen since pre-colonial times, providing not only habitat for survival, but crucial wilderness corridors for safe migration. Whitetail deer, the key prey species of the eastern mountain lion, have experienced an incredible population surge over the past few decades, as have less important prey, such as beavers, porcupines, turkeys, and racoons (not to mention livestock and pets, but more on that later). And then there is the nature of the cougar itself, its incredible adaptability and survival instinct. Even with it's numbers reduced through predator control, the cougar (or puma, mountain lion, panther, catamount, or any one of a dozen other local appellations) is the most widespread species in the Americas, save perhaps the introduced Norway rat. The cougar ranges from the southernmost tip of South America up into the Northern reaches of the Rocky Mountains, surviving on armadillos, vicunas, pocket gophers, desert bighorns, jackrabbits, collared peccaries, elk, and nearly every other possible prey under the sun. They survive in ecosystems as divers as the Sonoran desert, the Panamanian rain-forest, the Andean mountainsides, and the Los Angeles suburbs, all by being smart, secretive, cautious, and largely nocturnal (in large part avoiding the tragedy of becoming roadkill). The cougar is a super-predator, a super-survivor, and without the constant pressure of human persecution, there would be nothing keeping the cougar from reclaiming its old haunts but its own inscrutable feline whimsies.
Along with the cougar, however, come a whole host of difficulties particular to human-animal co-existance. The primary source of conflict between pumas and humans has historically been livestock predation, and although this issue is mitigated in the Northeast simple because farming has radically diminished, the specter is still there. Cougars will kill sheep, cattle, and horses, eventually, and it is the human population that needs to adapt to this reality. Reparation payments for lost livestock will have to be a necessary compensation. But people rarely have strong attachments to their stock; not so with their pets. When people lose cats and dogs, a different sort of reaction is engendered, one often fueled by hate. There's no easy solution for this conflict, no one wants their beloved lab made a meal of. Again, perhaps it's now people's responsibility to take better precautions with their pets, keeping them on leashes, restricting their wanderings. There is an upside to this issue: feral cats and dogs, themselves incredibly detrimental to the ecosystem, could be held in check, as could coyote populations (who are more notorious pet predators than cougars). However, this is all secondary to the very real threat of an attack on a human, or even a killing. Human predation as become an all-too-real danger over the last decade or so, as human habitation in the west has encroached on cougar habitat, and cougars have expanded into the marginal spaces left by suburbs and sub-divisions. In Southern California in particular, there have been a number of high profile cougar attacks over the past few years on joggers, hikers, and bicyclists. Though fatalities are exceedingly rare, and statistically it's more likely to be struck by lightning, the fear of becoming prey is a primal one, and people react harshly to wildlife attacks. Almost always, it's the beasts themselves who suffer, as the culling of trouble animals is an imprecise thing, as likely to result in the death of innocent creatures as it is the intended target. Again, ideally, it's up to humans to change their behaviors or take extra precautions, as much to save cougars lives as to defend their own.
With all these attendant threats, it's difficult to lose sight of the true blessing the cougars' return is for those who care about the Northeast. Though by its very nature the cougar can be dangerous, it is also a beautiful and bewitching creature, the most charismatic of charismatic megafauna. It's a gorgeous example of evolution and of grace, tawny, lithe, as fluid as warm honey, as exacting as a knife. It is perfect in it's own way, balanced by nature into a tool of its own survival, studded with sharp, hunter's eyes of deepest amber...it's too easy to wax poetic when describing such an animal, burning bright in the forests of imagination. Yet it's more than simple aesthetic appreciation that makes the mountain lion such a fitting symbol of the rewilding of the North woods. Scientifically, the mountain lion is a valuable part of the ecosystem , controlling deer populations and keeping trophic levels in check. The mountain lion's return is also a sign of the overall health of the environment; severely unbalanced or degraded ecosystems would not be able to support such an apex predator. That cougars are returning is a signal that the Northeast is once again becoming a whole and healthy region. More importantly, it means we're doing something right. It means that, through accident or effort, humans are making up for some of their past transgressions, righting some of their past wrongs. The mountain lion is not invading, nor wandering haplessly in, but rather coming home, because we now have allowed its home to exist. Even on a cold March day, with snow in the air and the wind roaring so lion-like outside, thats cause for celebration.
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